White Silk
by beckyxxx
Summary: T - Bag has started a business, and has found the perfect girl for the "job"...


**White Silk**

**Hiii, this is my first fan fic and I don't really know if its going anywhere. I feel it needs more smut. Yeeey for smut! Anyway, R&R so I know wether to continue! B xxx**

This was a man who had experienced too many prison uniforms. He dressed now in the finest suits, illegal snakeskin shoes, lavish colognes, expensive watches. Everything, especially the pockets, were lined with silk. This was a man with money to burn.

He stood before her now with a rare gentle look in his eye, the kind of look reserved for new employees at his… establishment. When he spoke however, it was clear there wasn't a gentle bone in this mans body.

"So, beautiful. Do we have an accord?" the voice dripped with a southern accent, slow and full of meaning. She stood to answer him, trying not to let her fear show, and raised a hand to shake his.

"We do sir." He frowned at her, looking almost offended.

"I ain't your "sir" little lady! Think of me more as… Your daddy." He giggled a moment at a clearly private joke, and continued, "and we sure as hell don't shake hands around here. Why, it's more friendly than that!." He grinned at her peevishly and took a step closer, inhaling deeply and nosily to breathe all of her in. She stood, held by fear, inches from his face as he closed his eyes and tasted the smell of her on his toulng, rolling it around his mouth and teeth. Something she wouldn't admit to stirred in her, and she broke his gaze looking to the floor. He growled in appreciation.

"See this white silk right here?" He said, nodding towards his trousers. She stiffened with fear again, not wanting to look at whatever it was he had to show her. But she relaxed when she saw he had merely turned out his left pocket, and was holding it out to her between two fingers.

"This is all you need to keep you safe here, take a hold of this and that's all the handshake I need. Your mine then, beautiful. I'll protect you from all the devils harm in this world." He spoke softly and reassuringly, and bizarre to her as it was, she wanted to take hold of his pocket. "_But cross me bitch_," He whispered suddenly, spittle flying from his mouth in this sudden quiet rage, "and I will kill you. Betray me, and your death will be the slowest in history, you hear me? I got toys that can make you scream…. Its up to you in which way." He calmed again, licking his lips. "So what's it to be?" She looked at him square in the eye again, swallowing her fear. She had little choice, and a warm bed, even a one shared with Theodore 'T-Bag' Bagwell, seemed really inviting after what she had been through. She took hold of the pocket. He beamed, winked at her, and led her from the room, whistling "Sweet home Alabama" in time to the swagger of his hips.

Perhaps we should start at the beginning. Ezmie Thompson didn't always keep such ghastly company as Theodore. Adopted…nasty daddy… developed early… the usual story for a stripper of her calibre. The only thing we need to know about Ezmie is that she likes a drink. Not likes – _needs._ Some nights at the club where she danced she would be sent home for being drunk. Her boss was reluctant to fire her - she was his best dancer. Not like the rest, she took her time with her clients worked every second out of that money stuffed in which ever lace thong she was wearing that night. Weeks passed, and the need for liquor grew stronger, she drank more and more before going on stage. Often, clients would ask for full sex after a dance, despite it being against company policy and Ezmie, in her drunken state, would agree. A $20 bottle of vodka was worth 20 minuets of pain, and that was if they lasted that long.

Soon she wasn't turning up for shifts. What with the money from dancing and selling herself, she could afford to indulge in 48 hour drinking sessions. Eventually clients where paying her in alcohol, and the occasional bag of coke. Her dancing turned to staggering, her days where a blur… Her boss had had enough. She was no longer his best dancer. Jobless, she turned to the streets. Darkness… groping… painful fucking…she would work more than any of the other girls because in her eyes 8 men a night at $10 was better than one guy at $60. And then, during a conversation with a fellow streetwalker she had herd of him. Just out of prison. Money to burn. Looking for girls and guys to work for him. She had never worked for anyone but herself before and didn't like the sound of it, but last week she had vomited all over a clients manhood, and hadn't had much business, or liquor since. And so she had gone, scared and shaky, into the lions den.

And now he leads her from the room, this white silk in her hand making her feel intimidated, safe and degraded all at once. Again something she didn't want to admit to stirred in her. She liked it.

The room they walked into was warm, its walls were a plush pinky red, lit softly by tall lamps in each corner. There was furniture, the most lavish she had ever seen, gold and cream – silk and velvet. And on every surface was draped a body. Women in suspenders laughed drunkenly and kissed hungrily. Men in just their skin fucked quietly while others watched. It was a sensory overload, but Ezmie had to admit – it was the most erotic thing she had ever seen. As they entered the room a few paused from their amorous activities to greet Bagwell. Various moans and sighs went out to him, and a girl who looked too young to be doing what she was doing stood up.

"Come play with me Teddy?" she inquired playfully. Teddy smiled a toothy smile at the girl as he walked past.

"All in good time sweetpea." He drawled, and kissed her passionately and suddenly. Then he pushed her away, roughly so she fell against a cabinet, and then continued to lead his new addition further into the room. 'Sweetpea' moaned a pouty protest and went back to the task in hand. Quite literally.

Ezmie was so consumed by the scene that when Theodore stopped abruptly in front of her, she nearly walked into him.

"I'm sorry..." she mumbled looking at the floor. He looked and her and bit his lip slowly, as if tasting himself.

"_Re-lax_ pretty. Sit down." He beckoned to an empty sofa nearby and she did as she was told. He draped one arm around her and one across the back of the chair. He smelled delicious, his cologne was sharp but also smelled a little of cinnamon. She breathed him in. beginning to relax.

"It's quite a sight ain't it? My little garden of Eden… my little world of pleasure." He laughed deeply to himself and then looked at her again, raising an eyebrow. "You look like you could use a drink, little lady." Ezmie looked up at him, her heart racing. She had to control herself, didn't want to seem too keen.

"I would love one." She smiled coyly at him.

"What's your _poison?" _He inquired cheekily, standing swiftly and heading to the bar that ran along the far wall. Hands reached out to him as he walked through the mass of bodies. They clearly worshiped him, and Ezmie couldn't help thinking that whatever he did, he must do it really, really well…


End file.
